


Cooking, Precise And Imprecise

by seki



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Don’t copy to another site, M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-21
Updated: 2019-05-21
Packaged: 2020-03-09 07:14:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18912121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seki/pseuds/seki
Summary: Rebuilding the world is about more than merely replacing bricks and mortar.





	Cooking, Precise And Imprecise

Noctis thinks it's strange, the contrast between modes.

When Ignis bakes, it's all precision: careful measures, timers, exact instructions to be followed. Noctis doesn't even dare offer help when Ignis is baking something; it's too easy to mess up, too easy to make Ignis sigh in exasperation and take the bowl or the whisk away from him. Baking is a science, and Noctis is no scientist. And the whole process makes Ignis seem somehow rigid, as inflexible as his recipes.

He doesn't like to linger, if Ignis has been baking, no matter how tasty the trays of pastries might be.

But when Ignis is cooking, it's not nearly so precise. Everything is more fluid and relaxed. Ignis estimates amounts, tells Noctis to add 'pinches' or 'handfuls', says 'a little more' or 'try this, more salt?' and substitutes ingredients without seeming too worried about how it might affect things. Noctis doesn't feel half as anxious, when he knows that playing around with the recipe isn't going to make Ignis upset.

"Come help me," Ignis says, that evening in Noctis's apartment. "Stir this. I'm going to try and concoct a sauce."

Noctis does as he's told, keeping the strips of meat and vegetables moving. Noctis still isn't the biggest fan of things like pepper and onion, but stir-frying does make it a lot better than he'd expected.

Ignis hums along to the pop song on the radio as he adds things to a saucepan; creamy mascarpone, diced tomatoes, spices. Noctis sneaks looks; the sauce is a dark orange with white streaks, until Ignis puts his stick blender into it and whirrs it into a smooth-looking orange. It reminds Noctis of tomato soup.

"Really this would go better on pasta," Ignis says, mostly to himself, and then shrugs. "Oh well. It's an experiment. As long as you'll eat it."

"I'll give it a try."

Ignis leans, bumps their shoulders together. "You're in an obliging mood."

"Am I?"

"Mm." Ignis smiles, and then sings along with the last chorus, his voice effortlessly lifting into the higher notes that Noctis's voice always cracks on. Noctis does his best to join in, since the song is a good one, about death and life and the space in-between.

" _And it's been too long to say goodbye~"_

Ignis chuckles, as the song fades away. "You _would_ love the most morbid record in the hit parade."

"Hey, you sang along first." Noctis grins, though. Hit parade. Ignis is so _retro_ sometimes. "Is this stuff done yet?"

Ignis picks up the chopsticks and snaffles one of the peppers, holding it up and peering at it before he takes a bite. "Yes, perfect."

Noctis lets Ignis take over; the sauce gets mixed into the stir-fry, then Ignis tips out half into each of the two bowls. They eat on Ignis's sofa, in front of the trashy gossip entertainment show that Ignis insists on watching. Noctis watches Ignis, as much as he watches the show. Ignis's eyes crease when he smiles, which he does a lot more these days than he used to. It makes Noctis glad, that there are chances for happiness and smiling and gossip and meals eaten from laps in front of the television.

Living in the ruins of Insomnia had been hard, at first. The rebuilding had involved blood, sweat and tears, as Ignis had said repeatedly, but Noctis feels like more time had been spent in committees than anything else. So many plans. So much organising. So much _effort._

But here they are. Civilisation has triumphed, and out of the ashes has risen a new Lucis, which emulates the past Lucis to a degree Noctis finds amusing and alarming by turns.

Ignis gestures to the television. "Can you believe this?"

Mindless media fluff is a product Noctis had been startled to find so much in demand by his people. He likes it, though. Triviality is a sign of a nation that can spare the time and attention for it, according to Ignis, and Noctis thinks it's _brilliant_ that Lucis is that nation again. "Sure. Film stars are _always_ having affairs."

"I remember him differently from Lestallum," Ignis says, and then stops, and shakes his head. "I suppose everyone was different then."

"Even you?"

"Even me." Ignis stirs his food. "I never thought he'd become an actor."

"It was years ago. People change."

"That they do."

Noctis can see the little frown in Ignis's forehead. "Still, it's just gossip."

Ignis glances up at him, and then smiles as if he's trying to make Noctis feel better. "Yes. I suppose I just expected more of him."

"You expect the best from everyone."

"I suppose I do."

It's true, Noctis thinks, as Ignis returns his attention to the gossip show. Ignis always seems to assume that people are good, noble, honest, and hard-working. He treats them like that, and -- miraculously -- people tend to try and live up to those expectations. The downside, as Noctis sees it, is that Ignis is genuinely disappointed when people show themselves to be flawed or petty.

Noctis has let Ignis down plenty of times, he thinks, and then crushes the thought down mercilessly. Wallowing in guilt isn't good for him. And Ignis has always told Noctis he's proud of him.

He shifts his weight, presses his shoulder into Ignis's arm.

"I've been thinking," Ignis says, still looking at the TV. "About the future."

Noctis's heart sinks. That sort of comment is usually a prelude to gentle prodding about Noctis's prospects for a wife and children. Noctis has met hundreds of women, in the past year. He has even been on what amounts to _dates_ with a handful of them. All of them were clever and competent and practical, traits that Noctis thinks are admirable and attractive.

He just can't imagine marrying them.

"Mm," he says, noncommittally.

"What would you like, ultimately?"

That's new. "What do you mean?"

"You're not going to marry any time soon." Ignis says, and there's a kindness to his tone which makes Noctis's heart twist in his chest. "I've seen you be courteous and affable to women, but you've no romantic interest in them."

Shit.

"Cor thought perhaps it was merely that few women could live up to the memory of Lady Lunafreya. I've been letting him believe that. But I suspect your disinterest is more than that."

Noctis puts his bowl and fork down, carefully, on Ignis's coffee table. "Okay."

"I…" and then Ignis shakes his head. "Never mind. I shouldn't ambush you like this."

"No, I get it. You guys are really worried about what comes next. The future of the throne." Noctis grabs the remote, and switches off the TV show. "And you're right."

"Am I?"

"I'm not interested in women."

Shit. It's a relief to admit it out loud. Noctis can almost feel the weight lifting off his shoulders. Ignis knows; now he and Cor and whoever else cares can work out where to go from here. It's not as if they can accuse Noctis of not having _tried_.

"I see," Ignis says, and puts down his own bowl. "Which leads me to another question."

"Yeah?"

"Who _would_ you be interested in? Or is there simply no-one?"

It's a fair question, probably. But coming from Ignis, it locks Noctis's throat into dryness. The people he loves most in all the world are his friends, including women. But on those occasions he thinks about _sex_ , about love, about intimacy, he dreams of a tall lean man with clever hands and a witty mind. Long legs. Sandy hair. Green eyes. Dark scars scattered across his face that don't remotely affect how handsome he is. Someone who he's already comfortable with, who tolerates his imperfections and loves him no matter what.

And sometimes, he thinks maybe Ignis feels the same way about him. Something in the way Ignis watches him sometimes feels _thoughtful_. There are moments when Noctis has nearly reached out, has nearly told Ignis.

Ignis stares at him, expectantly.

"I dunno," Noctis says, feeling like a coward. "Guys. Maybe."

A huff of amusement. "Only maybe?"

"No. I, um. Guys."

"Good. Excellent." Ignis pats Noctis on the knee, a bit awkwardly. "Thank you for telling me."

Noctis stares at the hand, as Ignis removes it, and then makes a decision. He grabs for that hand, tightens his fingers around Ignis's. "I like one person more than anyone else," he says, letting the words spill out. "Have done for years. And you probably know that, but I'm… I'm scared he won't want me, and I don't wanna fuck things up as friends."

Ignis stays very still, and then he stiffly says, "I'm sure Prompto is not going to--"

"No!" Noctis squeezes. "Not him. Shit. _You_."

There's a long pause, and Ignis doesn't say anything, and Noctis feels his stomach crunch up into a tight, hard knot. He starts to pull away, trying to work out how he can salvage this. Far too late to say it's a joke, but he can tell Ignis truthfully that he doesn't need his feelings to be returned--

"I don't," Ignis says, softly, "know what on earth I am going to tell Cor." And then he reaches out and takes Noctis's other hand too. "But I do know I'm immensely relieved."

The world seems to have gotten a degree or two warmer. "Yeah?"

"If I might be so bold?" Ignis leans in, tilts his head, smiles.

Noctis nods, watching Ignis's mouth, his beautiful expressive mouth that Noctis has wanted to kiss for so long, and then they _are_ kissing, soft warm short kisses that make Noctis feel _giddy_. Oh. He parts his lips, pulls his hands free from Ignis's so he can touch Ignis's face, his jawline, his throat, curl his fingers into Ignis's hair. Ignis's scars are rough, and his jaw has a slight prickle of stubble, and Noctis is delighted by both of these things.

Ignis pulls away, his eyes bright and pleased behind his glasses. His hair is escaping the usual slicked-back pompadour, his glasses are slightly askew, and he looks so perfect that Noctis wants to lean in and keep kissing him. "Noct," he says, his voice so _fond_ and wonderful. "Is this what you want?"

Noctis follows his instincts, steals one more kiss, and then grins. "Yep."

"Good. Because you should understand," and Ignis pulls his glasses off, tossing them to one side, "that I've loved you for years."

Shit. "Don't say that. I should have said, before, back in--"

"I don't care about _should_." Ignis cups his face in both hands. "I won't have any regrets between us, Noct. None."

"But--"

"No." Ignis presses a kiss to Noctis's mouth, hard, and then a gentler one. "I'd rather you think about the future than the past, right now. I know I am."

Ignis's eyes have a distinctly wicked glint in them. "Oh?"

"For instance," and Ignis drops a hand, plants it flat against Noctis's chest, "in the _immediate_ future, I could kiss you more."

"I like the sound of that."

Ignis's hand curls into Noctis's t-shirt. "And then… would you come to bed with me?"

Oh _god._ Noctis lifts a hand, clasps it over Ignis's. "Yes."

"And then--"

"...yes?"

Ignis's mouth curves into a smile. "Well. I've no idea what I'm doing once I'm there. I suppose you'll have to show what to do."

Noctis presses a kiss to the corner of those lips. "You're smart. Figure it out yourself."

Ignis laughs. "Very well. Challenge accepted."

To Noctis's delight, when it comes to kissing and bed and intimacy, Ignis's mode is all cook and no baker. There's laughter, and mistakes that don't matter, and words that _do_ matter, and more joy than Noctis had ever hoped to find in his life.

Ignis kisses him with a soft, slow, post-coital relaxation, and Noctis thinks about a future full of more of this, more of Ignis's creased-eye smiles and singing and expecting the best of people.

Maybe there'll be trashy gossip shows about the two of them, one day.

Right now? Noctis snuggles into Ignis's arms, lets the world drift far out of his awareness, and sleeps.


End file.
